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It's why I always like to push people to their limits. I love knowing what really lurked beneath the surface.
So, back to Raven. I'm pushing her to her limit, and I'm doing it on purpose. I don't know the girl, but I want to.
I know she's off-limits and all. Even if Consty did break up with her, she is still a no-go zone for at least a year. Not because I care about his fucking feelings.
Not in the slightest.
But, I don't want rumors about her springing up around school. And if she hops from one brother to another, there will definitely be rumors.
Okay, so again, back to Raven, for real this time. She's taking each bag, and I can see the stress collecting on her features. I max her out, handing her two cups of coffee when her lap is already overflowing with boxes and bags.
I almost lean in to see what sort of reaction she's going to give me.
Will she cry?
Will she yell?
She's a totally blank slate to me. A girl I can't really put my finger on.
And then she gives me a reaction I've never seen before.
A reaction that shows just how different, how amazing, how pure of a person she is deep down.
As she takes the coffee cups.
Her features break.
And she giggles.
ChapterFour
The sound escapes her lips and I instantly want to hear it again. You know how certain sounds bring you back to certain memories?
Maybe the sound of jingle bells reminds you of Christmas mornings?
Or the sound of your Uncle's keys makes your butthole clench?
Was that too dark?
Okay, but my point is, the sound of Raven's giggle fills me with happy, warm, gooey feelings inside. Which doesn't make sense, because I've never heard her giggle before.
Hell, I've never even had a full blown conversation with the girl.
None of that matters, though.
What matters right now is her, and me getting to hear that giggle again.
"I do believe that's the first time I've ever seen you smile," I remark as we drive off. The girl is basically covered in bags of food, desperately trying to hold onto multiple cups of tea and coffee because classic Mustangs don't have cupholders.
"Sorry," she whispers.
"For what?" I ask.
She doesn't respond to my question and her attitude seems to deflate.
I realize she's the sort of girl that doesn't do well under the spotlight. That's fine. I can adjust.
"I, on the other hand," I say, turning the attention on me, "tend to smile all the time."
